


Mismatched Socks and Hardwood Floors

by dissociatingdaydreams



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Best Friends, Blushing Spencer Reid, Childishness, F/M, First Kiss, Roommates, Surprise Kissing, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29247702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dissociatingdaydreams/pseuds/dissociatingdaydreams
Summary: One night, wine and music leads you and Spencer to slide in your socks across your apartment floor.One accidental kiss and a lot of blushing later, you decide to do it on purpose.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Inspired by @thewritersgarden on Instagram:"DO NOT I repeat do NOT imagine your OTP living together laughing and sliding across wooden floorboards in socks and crashing into each other then in the crash accidentally smashing lips and one half blushing and stammering while the other just shrugs, kisses them again and slides off with the other looking all swoony behind them"PS - Leave comments! And if anyone would like me to alter this story to be 3rd person with an OC instead of reader, let me know x
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Reader, Spencer Reid & You, Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	Mismatched Socks and Hardwood Floors

Well-worn books with cracked spins lined the walls of the apartment you and Spencer called home, sitting comfortably, dust-free from regular use, on the mismatching wooden bookshelves that covered the living room. A dark blue, well-loved sofa centered the room, odd throw pillows and a mountain of blankets strewn along it and piled up in the basket adjacent to it; perfectly placed to use when putting your feet up on the vintage chest you called a coffee table, whilst watching endless bad movies that irritated Spencer to no end. 

You both had been living together for approximately 1 year, though you were sure he could tell you exactly how long, right down to the minute. After a gruelling first 6 months in the BAU, you clicked so instantly that, for rent purposes, it seemed sensible to move in together. Most nights you would cook together, therefore forcing him to start eating food that was not out of a tin, though he would argue that that still functioned to keep him alive. 

You knew he would never go back now anyway.

Tonight was one such night, and after cooking a carbonara even Rossi would be proud of, you sipped on your glass of Sauvignon whilst Spencer, who had contributed absolutely nothing to the cooking process, loaded the dishwasher and cleared up. Both of you were appropriately snug – you sporting some joggers, a knit sweater and a pair of obnoxiously fluffy socks, hair in a loose bun with far too much falling out the front; Spencer looking heart-breakingly adorable in his flannel pyjama bottoms and Caltech sweater, purposefully mismatched socks covering his feet.

With a soft touch, Spencer placed the needle on the outermost grooves of the record, the soft musical thrum playing softly, as he came to join you on the sofa. He watched you, in a gentle, not-creepy way, as your glasses slid down your face, a small scrunch of your nose hoisting them back up, an action he thought entirely captivating. You were completely lost in thought, you barely looked up from your copy of Jane Eyre between your fingers, you didn’t feel him pick your legs up and place them over his lap. 

Spencer knew you thoroughly too well. He knew you adored a mellow tune to accompany you whilst you read. He knew you found the way his thumb gently stroked your leg as he read his own novel for the evening excessively comforting. Tonight, Spencer wasn’t reading his own copy of Sense and Sensibility, he was reading yours. 

Quite honestly, he didn’t know if he could every go back to thumbing the pages of his own adored copies. Reading your editions, covered in annotations in different colours for every different time you read the fable, your thoughts and emotions running down the page in technicolour ink, gave him a piece of you in literature form. He felt your anguish, your rage, the small uptick in your heartbeat when the tension rose; he felt the way you longed for someone to love you like they do in stories.

Once your chapter ended, you folded the corner of your page, discarding the book to the chest-top, and became aware of the current location of your legs. Looking up to the face that matched the lap, your reciprocated his previous staring with a mild level of your own, watching his delicate fingers run down the page, tracking his eyeline, tongue peeking out between his supple lips, the concentration on his face evident.

“I’m bored” you whined, small pout on your face, reminiscent of a petulant child. Your mewling voice a sum of the wine you drank and the incessant need to irritate Spencer (which required absolutely no alcohol).

Spencer closed his own book, reaching for the bottle sat in the wine cooler on the floor, eyes flickering in a smile as he poured you another glass. His lip twitching, he spoke in a light teasing tone:

“Well what do you suggest we do y/n”.

Your response was an overly energetic leap up from the sofa, fingers interlocking with his as you dragged him, though half-heartedly as he was entirely willing, up, the increase of the volume and tempo of the music you were playing matching the rise of your energy and childishness.

Forcing Spencer to spin you around, squealing in delight, the combination of your socks and the hardwood floors caused you to slip, Spencer gripping your arm tightly with one overly large hand, the other wrapping tightly around your waist, fingers brushing the skin underneath your sweater. Ignoring the fluttering in your abdomen and the cool burning where his fingers had just left, you took this accident as an opportunity to irritate Spencer further. You barrelled over to the wall containing the door to both of your bedrooms, an ear-splitting grin on your face.

“Catch me if I fall”

With that, you took at a run, sliding across the wooden planks, giggling as you slammed, hard, into him, spinning in a small circle. 

“Your turn” you exclaimed, shoving him slightly.

Something about the glee pained expressively over your cheeks made him want to do anything just to hear that tinkling laugh leave your lips again.

With that thought, his tall frame multiplying the hilarity of the act, he skidded, fast, across the dark stained wood. This prompted a few more songs worth of this amusing past time, both faces free of anxiety or trauma from work. 

Heart racing, skin flushed, breath panting you slid your sweater sleeves over your hands and spoke –

“Ready?”

With a slight incline of his head, smile evident, you skidded rapidly, foot catching on the floorboards vaulting you slightly into the air, directly into him. 

Directly into him, not as in plowing into his chest, or an awkward smack in the stomach.

Directly into him, in terms of an accidental collision with his mouth. With your mouth. 

Within approximately 3 seconds, Spencer was a blushing, stuttering, jittery mess. He froze in place, words exiting his mouth that really never made a sentence, just fragments of “sorry – I – accident” and various other synonyms. You could see every outcome of this awkward scenario flashing through his eyes, statistics rotating around his 187 IQ brain on the impact of this on your friendship.

Something about the glow to his cheeks, the apologetic eyes and the fidgety fingers was so consumingly charming, that you made a choice to end his anxiousness.

You pulled your hands out of the sleeves of the colourful knit, and with a small shrug, you reached upwards to place both hands determinedly on his heated cheeks, eyes fluttering closed, and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“Sorry Spence. That was an accident” you spoke, a teasing smile adorning your face.

The poor boy had never felt his eyes open quite so wild, whilst simultaneously feeling his face stretch into a small, embarrassed smile, insightful as to the butterflies currently inhabiting his stomach.

Stumbling over his surprise, and your action’s implications in regards to your feelings, with a slight jump in his speech, Spencer regained his sense of consciousness back and ,as though by habit, factually stated:

“B-based on the friction, angle of the floor and force, the odds of us colliding in that particular way were one in three thousand, seven hundred and ninety-four”.

When your brow quirked in response, masking your terror of non-reciprocation, he stammered out, with a light blush and small twitching smile,

“But I’m glad we did”.


End file.
